


Will You Hold My Hand

by FyrMaiden



Category: Glee
Genre: Awkwardness, Gen, Questioning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-27 01:02:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2673032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FyrMaiden/pseuds/FyrMaiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The one where Sam falls asleep in Blaine's bed. </p><p>(Sam wakes up curled around Blaine, morning erection pressed against Blaine's ass. They talk it out.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will You Hold My Hand

**Author's Note:**

> jaded-idealism prompted: Sam and Blaine have to share a bed for some reason and when Sam wakes up not only are they spooning but he's pressing his erection into Blaine's ass, and this causes him to have doubts and confusion about things, and just Blaine and Sam talking and working through his doubts and fears together.

When Blaine wakes, it’s to a firm arm wrapped around his waist and the soft puff of breath on his neck, to snuffling snores and the music loop on the splash screen of the DVD that had been playing when his eyes drifted closed. He wakes to the silence of his house, to the steady tick of the clock, and to the long-missed warmth of another boy pressed close against him, holding him, stopping him from fraying apart. Blaine presses back into it and accepts the comfort. He allows himself a smile as the hand on his stomach spasms and tightens, and lets himself sink into the feeling as his eyes slip closed again.

The second time he wakes up, he's conscious of the pale light filtering into his room, of the blinking lights on his alarm clock, and of the familiar feeling of a clothed erection nudging his tail bone, pressed firm against his ass. He’s aware of the restless shift of hips, and the low ache of missing this that gathers inside of him. With the pale summer dawn comes the remembrance of who is sharing his bed, though, and how very much he doesn't want to spook this amazing, wonderful guy who has been his friend through everything that has happened, through everything that he's done. He lies very still in the early light, and waits for Sam to wake up too.

*

Sam wakes slowly. It's more of a resurfacing than a waking. Consciousness dawns on him slowly, his brain molasses thick with the fug of sleep. The bed is comfortable, the sheets are warm, and the body pressed snug to his smells familiar. Sam takes a deep breath, full of cologne and hair product, and lets it lull him in the first fragile moments of wakefulness. His body feels loose, relaxed, and he lets himself feel the presence, shifts his hips and draws his companion back against him, presses close and easy and buries his nose in the back of a red McKinley gym shirt. It's odd, he thinks muzzily, how much it smells like Blaine, even as his restless hips press again against the warm swell of that perfect ass. 

It takes time for yesterday to full cohese in Sam’s mind, for the tense muscles under his palm to register, and for him to catch up with what his body is doing without his express permission. He loosens his arm and rolls away, stares at the ceiling and wills himself to not freak out. He fell asleep to a Clone Wars marathon at Blaine’s house. They’d planned to play games and blow off the stress of their last weeks of childhood, and had ended up with a DVD and Blaine listening to him with honest and heartfelt sympathy as he talked about the sad state of his love life. Blaine had made fried rice, and they’d changed into their pajamas. They’d been warm and full and exhausted, and Sam had drifted out of consciousness shortly before midnight, much to his own consternation. There is nothing here to be concerned about. There is nothing weird. He’s slept with Blaine before, this isn’t a crisis.

Except that usually, he doesn’t wake up curled around Blaine. He doesn’t usually wake up his own treacherous dick pressed against Blaine’s ass. 

In his own head, Sam quietly freaks out.

*

Blaine doesn’t want this to be a thing. Sam has been excellent with him, comfortable and easy. It hasn’t been Blaine’s experience of straight boys before. They’ve always been fine with him in theory, but theory is not being comfortable enough to fall asleep half-naked in the same bed as him. Sam is wonderful and different, isn’t phased by Blaine’s feelings, and has willingly joked with him about them. He’s been confident enough in his own sexuality that Blaine’s hasn’t ever been a threat to him. 

Blaine also knows how it feels the first time your body responds to another boy the way Sam’s has. He knows the questions he had to answer for himself, knows how much it scared him. He also knows that his body responded, once, to kissing Rachel Berry, and that that hadn’t meant much beyond the week long crisis of identity. He tries not to breathe too loud, tries to calm the thud of his heart, and waits for Sam to speak first. The minutes on his clock tick by, and Sam continues to stare at the ceiling. Blaine closes his eyes and tries not to panic. He hasn’t done anything. Neither of them have done anything. There is nothing wrong. Nothing has changed. 

But his brain isn’t really interested in reason.

*

The silence is endless in the quiet of Blaine’s bedroom. Beyond the door, Sam can hear water running, the sound of the shower, and Blaine’s parents talking. Blaine shifts beside him, his movements small and incremental, as if he’s trying to disappear. Sam reaches out and rests his hand, over the bedclothes now, on Blaine’s hip. “Hey,” he says, his voice still full of night and confusion. Blaine’s head turns on the pillow, and he rolls over slowly. 

“Hey,” he responds, his eyes guarded and his mouth pressed into a line that Sam can’t read. Sam stares back, tries to imagine what is happening inside of Blaine’s head, tries to correlate it with what is happening in his own. Blaine's eyes bore into his, and his mouth flickers a small smile. "Say it, Sam. The first thing that comes into your head right now. Say it."

Sam feels his face crease into a frown. The last thing he wants is to make Blaine feels like he's done something to be ashamed of, like anything about him is wrong. Sam doesn’t want to be one of those boys, even though Blaine has told him repeatedly that he doesn’t think Sam is deliberately judgemental enough to be that anyway. "I'm not," he begins, and falters, stops. He's not what? He's not comfortable? He's not gay? Is his body trying to tell him something? Should he feel obliged to follow through on what his body is doing, although he doesn't want to himself? "I don’t-" 

He huffs out a sigh and pushes himself to sit upright, urges Blaine to do the same. Blaine' obliges, sits upright and crosses his legs, turns the TV off as he does so. His jaw clenches, and his hands fidget on the sheets, searching for something to do. He readjusts his t-shirt and scrubs his fingers through his hair. Sam's not used to this Blaine. His Blaine is in perfect and consistent control of himself, on the outside at least. Blaine's nervousness makes Sam feel nervous.

"Please," he breathes out, turns his face toward Sam again. "The first thing you think, right now."

Sam doesn't stop to evaluate his response this time. "I'm confused," he says. Blaine blinks.

"What?"

"I don't understand what this means.” He gestures towards his lap, and then Blaine. “Like, I’ve never thought of you like that. I mean, you’re cute, dude, but I don't - does this mean - I'm not sure how to feel right now? I mean, how did you know you're, you know. Gay?" Sam almost thinks he sees the tension drain out of Blaine's shoulders as his smile flickers back into existence.

"George Clooney," he says. Sam frowns. "Tom Hardy. GQ and Men's Health and Burberry boys in the adverts in Mom's magazines. Boy’s shoulders, and no real comprehension about why we watched the girls swim club practice." His smile is wry, and Sam nods his head, pictures swim club and sighs. Blaine rolls his eyes. When Sam speaks again, it’s easier, more honest.

"So not, y'know. That."

"I knew I was gay a long time before I had an erection because of a guy, yes." Blaine pauses and thinks, and then, "Although I don't think I said the world out loud before that." 

"So like - I'm not-"

Blaine is smiling when he says it this time. "Say it Sam. I'm not going to think less of you for it."

"I'm not gay."

"Probably not,” Blaine agrees. “Although, really? You’re the only person who knows for sure. Besides, kissing Rachel, going on a date with her? Didn’t make me straight, much as I enjoyed it. “

Sam blinks, and then laughs, pulls the covers from himself and puts his feet on the floor. "She has a great mouth," he says, and Blaine snorts a laugh of his own. 

"Don't," he says. "It'll be like every conversation I've ever read online about the appeal of Angelina Jolie, and there are things I don't really want to imagine. Ever." 

"She also has a great mouth," Sam agrees, and Blaine hurls a pillow at him, which Sam catches with ease. "Hey, you brought it up."

"But seriously," Blaine says, reaching to retrieve his pillow from Sam's outstretched hand. "Whilst I would love to think my ass has the ability to turn cute boys gay, I just don't think I have that power."

"Aww, you think I'm cute?"

"You know I think you're cute."

"You told me those were Lifesavers!"

Blaine shrugs and climbs out of bed, adjusts his pajama pants where they’re riding too low on his hips. "Apparently straight boys are super gullible as well," he says. 

Sam frowns. "I can't tell if you're serious."

Blaine is enigmatic as he plumps his pillows and straightens and smoothes his sheets. "I’ll let you decide," he says, glancing up from beneath his lashes. “But those uniforms don’t have pockets.”

Sam makes a horrified face at the top of Blaine’s head, but he’s laughing now as well. When Blaine turns around to gather his cushions from the floor, Sam allows himself the time to take in the lines of Blaine’s body beneath the thin layers of cotton. Objectively, he lets himself appreciate that Blaine is a good looking guy, and Sam would love it if he could achieve the muscle tone Blaine has in his thighs without putting in the kind of hours he has to at the gym. But he’s not attracted to him, not in the way he is to the women he’s dated and slept with. As sure as he is of that, though, he’s equally unsure what to do with his relief.

*

Once Blaine has contented himself with his bed, he looks up to find Sam is staring at him. “Sam?” he says, and Sam shakes his head and plumps back down on the mattress. 

“Elephant,” he says. Blaine stops and looks at him, tries to puzzle the statement out with little success.

“Huh?”

“I read it somewhere,” Sam says. “When you’re stuck and you don’t know what to say, you say ‘elephant’ and then you can come back later and fix it.”

Blaine feels the love he has for this boy swell and pulse, his heart expanding in his chest. He’s pretty sure that it’s a writing exercise, one which he has both read about it and used himself, but if it helps Sam to work through his verbal stumbling block then he won’t tell him that he’s wrong. “Elephant,” he responds. It seems fair.

Then his stomach grumbles, and his need to leave this room and this conversation overwhelm him. “I’m making pancakes,” he says. “Do you want some?”

Sam’s face lights up and his stomach growls. Blaine knows not every conversation will be this easy, but they’re past this one for now. That’s all he can ask for.


End file.
